My Favorite Thief (5 page)

“I can assure you that isn't true,” he told her.

Annie snorted contemptuously. “Course it is.”

“Come inside out of the rain, Annie, and let's get you warm and dry and see to that eye of yours.” Charlotte wrapped a protective arm around her. “I believe Inspector Turner and Constable Wilkins are finished with their questions.” She regarded him coolly, letting him know that she disapproved of his apparent lack of interest in what had befallen poor Annie. “Is there anything further you require, Inspector?”

“I just wanted to have a word with your coachman, and take a look at your carriage.”

“I'll have Oliver meet you around the back so he can show you the carriage, and answer any further questions you may have.”

“Thank you, Miss Kent. My apologies for disturbing you. Good night.”

Charlotte's heart was pounding anxiously as she shepherded Annie back into the house. Once the door was closed behind her and she was certain Inspector Turner and Constable Wilkins were headed to the stable, she regarded her household of former thieves and prostitutes in confusion.

“Where is he?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“He's gone, lass,” Oliver told her, cramming an old battered hat on his head as he prepared to go outside to meet the inspector and Constable Wilkins.

“Once we knew the bobbies was fixin' to search the house, we had to get him out of here right quick,” Ruby explained. “So while they was dawdlin' in the kitchen an' such, we woke the Shadow, threw a shirt an' coat on him, plopped a hat on his head, an' dragged him down the back stairs.”

“Then we heaved him in a carriage an' paid the driver to take him wherever he wanted to go,” added Violet.

Flynn nodded. “He was awake by then, an' knew what was about.”

“I told the lad I didna need to know where he was headed, but said he should take his mask off afore he got there, so the driver wouldna take notice of him,” Oliver continued.

“We was hopin' he'd get away nice an' quiet, but I stayed out an' pretended it was my Jimmy who left when the peelers saw the carriage leavin'.” Annie shook her head with irritation. “That one peeler got a bit touchy when I told him he was just like all the others, but I knew he'd never actually try to find Jimmy. None of 'em care when a whore gets a beatin', an' that's the hard truth of it.”

“You aren't a whore anymore, Annie,” Charlotte reminded her. “And if Jimmy or anyone else ever lays a hand on you again, I shall insist that the police find them and lay charges.”

“Ye're most kind, Miss Kent.” Annie smiled fondly at her. “But the bobbies don't care about what happens to a girl like me.”

“Well, we care about ye, lass,” Eunice informed her flatly.

“Aye, and I've told ye if Jimmy dares show his face around here, I'm puttin' my boot to his ass an' makin' sure he doesna come after ye again,” added Doreen. “Come on then, lass,” she continued, turning her attention to Charlotte. “Ye look as if ye're about to fall over. Let's get ye into yer bed.”

“Dinna worry about the peelers,” Oliver added, heading toward the door. “I'll show them the carriage and send them on their way.”

“Thank you, Oliver.” The throbbing in Charlotte's leg told her that she had been walking and standing for far too long. “I suppose there's nothing more we can do now.”

“Let me help ye upstairs, lass,” said Doreen.

“No, thank you, Doreen. I can manage. Good night, everyone.”

She limped slowly up the stairs. After entering her room she closed the door, then collapsed wearily onto the bed, heedless of the blood on her evening gown or the uncomfortable constriction of her corset. She had not wanted any of them to know how exhausted she was, or how profound an effect Inspector Turner's interrogation had had upon her. She inhaled a shallow breath and rolled onto her side, fighting to endure the pain now streaking from her thigh to her toes.

Thanks to the efforts of her fiercely loyal household, the Dark Shadow had made it safely out of her home. With luck, he would make it back to wherever it was he lived that night. If he decided to reform his ways and stop stealing, he might even avoid being found and arrested for the murder of Lord Haywood. Her efforts to help him had been successful.

She closed her eyes, confused by the powerful sense of loss that had gripped her on learning the Dark Shadow was gone.

Chapter Four

S
OD IT,
A
RCHIE,
I'
M STARVIN'.
C
AN WE GO, NOW?”
The woman glared sulkily at the enormous man beside her.

“Shut yer bloody gob, Sal, unless ye want to feel me fist in it,” Archie warned. “I'll tell ye when it's time to go.”

“We've been here all night,” Sal pointed out, too cross and tired to be intimidated by his threat. “I'm hungry an' I need to take a piss.”

“Then piss,” he said, glowering. “Who the hell is stoppin' ye?”

“What—right here on the street?”

“Why not? It's cleaner than the privies or pots ye're used to.”

“I ain't pissin' on no street,” she informed him tartly. “It ain't proper.”

A bark of laugher escaped him. “Oh, so ye're all high an' proper now, are ye? For a bit o' brass ye'd piss in a church in front of Jesus Christ himself, an' ye know it.”

“Archie!” Sal smacked his shoulder. “Don't talk blasphemy!”

“If ye're suddenly shy, go behind one of them houses,” he suggested, weary of her constant complaining. “No one will see ye if ye're quick.”

“An' what if someone catches me an' yells for a peeler?” she demanded. “Then what?”

“Then I guess ye'll be sleepin' in a cell tonight.” He shrugged.

“Would you come after me?”

“What for?”

“To try to get me out!”

“Why? Ye'd only be in a night or two. Ye've stayed longer.”

“An' after the last time I made up my mind I ain't goin' back.”

“Fine, then—don't piss. Just quit yer squawkin'—I'm sick o' listenin' to ye.”

Sally crossed her arms defiantly over her ample breasts and squeezed her thighs together, trying to quell the mounting pressure in her bladder. “What are we waitin' for here, anyway?” she demanded sourly. “She ain't goin' nowhere today—not after what happened last night. Why don't we just come back tomorrow?”

“Why don't ye shut up, Sal, afore I break yer bloody jaw?”

“Fuck you, Archie.” She turned and began to march furiously down the street.

Archie rolled his eyes. He knew he had gone too far. “Sal,” he called, his voice low and irritated. “Sal!”

She stopped and regarded him definatly. “What?”

“Come back.”

“Why?”

“Because I want ye to.”

“Well, maybe I don't want to. Did ye ever think of that?”

“Fine, then,” he snarled, sick of her mood. “Bugger off, then.”

She glared at him, pretending to debate whether or not he was worth returning to. Finally she gave a mighty huff, annoyed by the feelings that kept dragging her back to him. Somewhere deep down, in a place he was afraid for her to see, Archie Buchan actually cared for her, she told herself fiercely. He wasn't rich or handsome, but he was strong and smart and good with his fists, which made him a good protector—at least when he wasn't throwing punches her way. Most of all, he was hers.

With nothing else to call her own, that had to be enough.

“I ain't stayin' long,” she informed him as she walked back. “Just a few more minutes, an' then I'm off to find some tea an' a privy.”

Archie kept his gaze on the modest little house across the street and said nothing. He didn't really give a damn whether Sal waited with him or not. He had just wanted to see how long it would take for her to back down. If she hadn't been smart and returned right quick, he'd have made her sorry for it later. That was the way of it with women, he'd learned.

You had to make them sorry, or they'd never show you any respect.

“Ye can go when ye like,” he told her. “Just bring me a meat pie and some ale when ye come back.”

“How long are you goin' to stay, then?”

He shrugged. “ Till I leave.”

“But what are ye waitin' for?” she persisted, trying to understand. “Now that ye know where she lives, why don't ye just squeeze her for a few quid an' be done with it?”

“That's what's wrong with ye, Sal—ye think too small. Do ye honestly think she's only worth a few quid?”

“She ain't rich, that's for sure,” Sal returned, scratching under her armpit. “Her house ain't much, an' her togs ain't fancy. Even last night when she went to that swell's house, I didn't see no jewels on her.”

“There's more than a few quid in her, Sal,” Archie assured her. “She may live with whores and thieves, but she's the ward of a bloody marquess.” His expression was dark as he finished softly, “I ain't about to let her get by for just a few goddamn quid.”

 

P
AIN PIERCED HER SENSES LONG BEFORE THE SUNLIGHT
did. It stole up her leg slowly, almost delicately, like a spider creeping along the stem of a flower. It paused a moment at her knee, weaving its intricate web of throbbing through the stiff joint, then proceeded up her thigh, silently rousing the nerves from their dormant state. The pain began to intensify, swiftly now, coursing through flesh and bone, tightening and twisting the muscles until they began to spasm in protest. Charlotte gasped suddenly and sat up, fighting the urge to cry out as she grabbed her calf and began to desperately knead the tightly braided muscles.

Please, please, please,
she chanted silently, her teeth clenched together and her brow shimmering with sweat as she struggled to break the cramp that had seized her. Her hands moved desperately over the battered, misshapen limb, squeezing and pressing, trying to pummel the treacherous muscles back into their previous state. She knew she should get up and try to walk upon it, or grab her toes and pull them back in an attempt to stretch the contracted muscles, but the pain was too overwhelming for her find the courage to risk even more.
Please, please,
she continued desperately, focusing on the word, trying to draw strength from the possibility that God might actually be listening. There were tears in her eyes now, of pain and desperation and the terrible helplessness that gripped her whenever she found herself in this hideous state.
Please,
she wept, the word falling from her lips in a small, broken whisper, a promise and a plea, for in that moment she would have vowed almost anything in exchange for relief.

Gradually, the cramp began to lessen.

She continued to massage her aching leg, knowing that if she quit too soon, the spasm would find the strength to attack once more. Little by little it eased its terrible grip upon her, until finally she was able to whimper and fall back against the mattress, her chest heaving, her cheeks wet with tears.

“Miss Kent?” Annie called hesitantly through the door. “Are ye all right?”

Brushing her hands against her face, Charlotte sat up. “I'm fine, Annie.”

Annie remained in the hallway, unconvinced. “Can I come in, then?”

Charlotte was dismayed to see that she was still wearing her bloodstained gown from the previous night. “Just a minute.” She limped over to her wardrobe, retrieved a simple dressing gown, and hastily covered herself. Then she went to the door and opened it. “Good morning, Annie. Is everything all right?”

“I thought I heard cryin'.” Annie regarded her curiously, taking in the pale sheen of her skin and the telltale droplets upon her lashes. “Are ye sick?”

“No.” Charlotte managed a small, forced smile. “I'm fine, Annie. What about you—is your eye paining you today?”

“Not much. Eunice did a good job of keepin' the swellin' down, and that apple mush of hers kept it from gettin' too blue.” She looked past Charlotte into the room. “Did ye sleep on yer bed last night?”

Charlotte glanced over at the rumpled bed. “I was so tired after everything that happened last night, I thought I'd lie down for a minute, and instead fell sound—”

“Where is she, Oliver?” demanded a worried voice from the main floor. “Charlotte!”

“I'm here, Annabelle.” Charlotte could hear concern in her sister's voice. “In my room—come on upstairs.”

A small army of feet raced up the narrow staircase and four of Charlotte's five siblings charged into her bedchamber.

“Oh, Charlotte,” burst out Annabelle, “thank goodness you're here!”

Annie stared in fascination at the beautiful young woman who rushed over and threw her arms around Charlotte. Her features were remarkably lovely, and although her pale blond hair was falling down from beneath an elegant green and ivory hat, its disarray could not detract from its magnificent thickness and shine.

“We heard that you were abducted by the Dark Shadow last night—are you all right?” A second young woman also wrapped her arms protectively around Charlotte. She struck Annie as unusually pretty as well, with enormous dark eyes and coffee-colored hair that had been hurriedly pinned into place.

“I'm fine, Grace,” Charlotte assured her, drawing comfort from the hugs of her sisters. “Really.”

“Are you certain?” A handsome young man with red hair and blue eyes regarded her doubtfully.

“Yes, Simon.”

“Is that blood on your dress?” With his strawberry-blond waves and earnest expression the other man struck Annie as younger than the rest—perhaps as old as twenty-two, but no more. Annie liked his sweetly unsophisticated air.

Charlotte self-consciously closed the neckline of her dressing gown, trying to hide the bloodstained gown underneath. “Yes, Jamie, but it isn't mine—it's from the Dark Shadow. Everyone, this is Miss Clarke,” she continued, indicating Annie. “Annie, let me introduce you to my sisters and brothers: Annabelle, Lady Harding; Grace, Lady Maitland; Mr. Simon Kent; and Mr. James Kent.”

“Ye don't look nothin' alike,” Annie observed candidly.

Grace laughed. “You're right, we don't.”

“But we are alike in many other ways,” Annabelle assured her.

Annie regarded her doubtfully, noting her elegant hat, expensively tailored dress, and glossy pearls. Charlotte did not exhibit even a fraction of the confidence or poise that her two sisters possessed.

“You look awful, Charlotte,” Jamie announced, laying his hand against her forehead. “Pale and drawn, and your skin is cold. Have you eaten anything today?”

“I'm fine Jamie, just a little tired. Jamie is studying medicine at Edinburgh University,” she explained to Annie, smiling. “Which means he likes to practice being a doctor with everyone he meets.”

“It's good to have a doctor in the family.” Annie nodded with approval. “Ye never know when someone's goin' to snuff it.”

“Hopefully, once I've graduated, I'll be able to keep some people from snuffing it,” Jamie joked.

“However did you manage to escape the Dark Shadow?” asked Annabelle, still holding fast to her sister.

“I didn't, actually,” Charlotte admitted. “I was trying to help him get away and then he was shot by Lord Haywood, and so we came here. Eunice and Doreen dressed his wound, then everyone worked together to sneak him out of the house as the police were searching for him.”

“You helped him escape after he shot poor Lord Haywood?” Grace regarded her in astonishment. “Why?”

“Because he didn't shoot Lord Haywood. He only had Lady Chadwick's hairbrush in his pocket. He never hurt anyone.”

“The newspapers said he tried to strangle you, then dragged you down the stairs against your will, using you as a shield,” Simon informed her.

Charlotte regarded him in dismay. “It's in the newspapers?”

“Of course—it's on the front page of this morning's
Daily Telegraph
.”

“When they were printing it last night no one realized you had returned home safely, so the headline read:
Dark Shadow Murders Lord Haywood, Abducts Lord Redmond's Ward.
We were all horrified when Beaton brought it to us this morning.”

“Do ye all live together, then?” asked Annie curiously.

“Grace and I are both married and live in Scotland, but we come to London for a visit in the summer every year,” Annabelle explained. “While we're here we usually stay together at our parents' home.”

“And since I'm on a break from my studies at the moment, I convinced Simon that we should go with them, so we could see how Charlotte was making out with her new refuge house,” Jamie added.

“This dreadful attention is sure to hurt us,” Charlotte lamented. “It's been hard enough to get people to donate their money to keep the house going.”

Annie frowned. “But ye're rich, ain't ye? I mean, what with your father bein' a marquess an' all.”

“My parents have some wealth,” Charlotte allowed, “and they have been extremely generous in helping me set up this house. They paid for the lease and gave me money to buy furnishings, but I assured them that I could raise the funds to run it myself, so I wouldn't forever be relying on their charity. I thought if I could just make the wealthy aware of the terrible suffering of London's poor women and children, they would gladly want to help them.”